I cry but I don't know when

I should stop and these

fingers of mine can't seem to

stop wandering into

the hungry eyes of strangers.

I guess it's an addiction of

crime that handcuffs me

to spit and slime

in the air vents where

secrets scream out.

Somehow I lost you in the

chills of summer when

bathing suits slip into water

and unsuspecting fish

are trampled by sunlight.

We are all gone into

an abyss of clouds and blue

sky skimmed over

with the dead mockingbird's

feathers. I cry but

I want your eyes to see mine.

Open.